


It Ain't Cheatin' [If it's Not Against the Rules]

by BeneficialAddiction



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Big Gay Feelings, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Miscommunication, Queer Exploration, Queer Themes, Suspected Infidelity, gender nonconformity, learning to be queer, talking it through
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 23:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneficialAddiction/pseuds/BeneficialAddiction
Summary: David sees some things and comes to the logical (albeit incorrect) conclusion.Patrick is just trying to explore his queerness.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 20
Kudos: 88





	It Ain't Cheatin' [If it's Not Against the Rules]

**Author's Note:**

> Adventures in gender-conformity, communication, and having your own thing.

If you asked David to name a time when his faith was in Patrick Brewer was really, truly shaken, you’d expect him to name the barbecue. At the time _of_ the barbecue, that’s probably what he would have said. Later – a _lot_ later – things are a little better, because he does his own processing of the event, and Patrick does his, and they do some together, and David works through it and gets to an honestly secure place with the whole thing. He’s not _happy_ about it, but he can understand where and how and why Patrick had ended up in the position he had, where and how and why he’d ended up dragging David along with him. 

No, the barbecue ends up being more about anger than fear, more about frustration. 

The first time that suspicion puts a true spike of _fear_ into the pit of his belly comes later, months later, after Rachel has come and left again, after David and Patrick have hashed and rehashed the whole thing and after Patrick quietly reveals that talking to Rachel was the first time he’d said it out loud, ever. The first time he’d labeled himself, the first time he’d claimed that word. 

He’s gay. 

They recover from Rachel, they recover from the break and the olive branches, recover from the painful ache of going through it all. Patrick gets his own apartment and they recover from _that_ miscommunication, the two of them working together to talk more and compromise and force each other to be honest, to be better. It’s beautiful and wonderful and like nothing David has ever experienced, so the first time Patrick does something that really, truly reminds him of the kinds of people he _used_ to date, David very nearly panics. 

They’re a couple of years into this thing now, and he’s more settled, more confident than he’s ever been. He’s been given his own key to Patrick’s place and has started nesting, putting his own little touches on the space and leaving more of himself than just an overnight bag behind to take up residence. For his part Patrick seems incredibly pleased with each inch David commandeers, incredibly relieved each time David steps through the door without knocking or is found waiting on the couch when he gets back from another sportsball game or a rowdy beer night with his business friends. 

That’s probably why he’s so thrown when he steps into Patrick’s apartment, puts his keys down in the hand-carved bowl near the door, and turns around to find his boyfriend emerging from the bathroom in his boxers and an undershirt, swiping at his face with a towel. He’s just about to call out when Patrick finishes up, startling hard when he catches sight of David standing there and going a little pale in the face. 

“David!” he yelps, jumping almost comically. “What are you...” 

“Um, sorry?” he says, a little louder than he means to because anxiety is suddenly sizzling beneath his skin. “Didn’t realize you were so caught up in whatever you were doing that you didn’t even hear the door.” 

Patrick swallows, hard enough that David can see his adam’s apple bob in his throat, and his eyes flicks nervously back and forth, darting toward the bathroom. 

“Is... everything ok?” he asks nervously, the worry spiking through his system with the way Patrick is shifting around – suddenly, horribly reminded of the time he’d come back to his own apartment to find his girlfriend hiding two other men in his bathroom. 

His heart tries to crawl up into his throat and he thinks for all of a second that Patrick’s lips look swollen, a smudge of color at the corner of his mouth, like he’s been kissed, but it must just be a trick of the light. 

“Of course,” Patrick replies, his shoulders dropping as his calm and his confidence return, his face smoothing out and his voice going relaxed and easy. “Everything’s fine. You just startled me, I... lost track of time.” 

“You?” David says, arching an eyebrow as he and Patrick step toward each other, into each other’s space. “What could you have possibly been doing that made Mr. Regular-Store-Hours lose track of time?” 

“Just getting cleaned up,” he says with an easy shrug, lifting the towel as if to remind him, then scrubbing it over his face again. “I took a hike earlier but I got lazy and crashed as soon as I got home.” 

“So you got your nature sweat all over the sheets?” David yelps, before rushing forward to pull the towel from his grip. “And what have I told you? _Pat_ the face; you’ll _ruin_ your complexion!” 

“Ok David,” Patrick murmurs with a smile, and then he’s pulling him in by the waist and making him forget that he was ever worried at all.

**XXX**

The next time he even remembers all of that, the next time that it even crosses his mind again, he and Stevie are waiting for Patrick at the Wobbly Elm. He’s supposed to be picking them up after a night of Polar Bear shots and (awful) amateur karaoke, but he’s ten minutes late and David’s starting to get worried.

“What?” Stevie demands when he checks his phone for the tenth time in those ten minutes, but she’s too drunk to understand or to offer appropriate commiseration, so David just shakes his head. 

Tossing down a fiver, he asks for a water bottle for each of them and sets about coaxing her to drink it without spilling the whole thing down the front of her blouse. It’s a distraction and he knows it, but it’s fine because he needs a distraction from the spiral just waiting for him to trip down. He’d totally be anxious regardless, that maybe Patrick had crashed or run out of gas or something because he’s _never_ late to anything, especially when he knows David is waiting on him, but this time he’s suddenly remembering that stupid day at the apartment where he’d gotten that weird feeling that Patrick had been kissed and was trying to scrub away the lipstick on his mouth. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late!” 

David startles as his boyfriend comes bustling up, all rushed and minorly-frantic energy. His button-up is just a little askew and he’d clearly thrown on a jacket on his way out the door that doesn’t match at all, and as he leans in close to press a kiss to David’s forehead, he swears he catches a whiff of perfume on Patrick’s collar. 

He’s never been much for cologne, see? David’s tried, but Patrick always brushes him off, claiming he’s never found one that he actually likes. He’d guided him through RA’s entire selection before giving up, due in no small part to Patrick’s threat to just pick up some Ralph Lauren the next time he went out. He’s not _used_ to smelling anything on Patrick, and so that slight scent, that little burst of perfume stands out. 

And it _is_ perfume. 

It’s light and floral and lovely, with underlying citrus notes, and nothing that David recognizes. 

He frowns, opens his mouth with on sharp _what-the-fuck?!_ but he’s tipsy and he knows it, and Patrick’s pulled back far enough that he can’t smell it anymore and isn’t sure he had in the first place. The hand on the small of his back is warm and steady and sure, and Patrick is looking at Stevie with a fond expression as he reaches out to push a lock of her hair out of her face, and the fear is momentarily drowned out by crashing love. 

Later that night, when his best friend has been tucked safely into her own bed and David finds himself tucked into Patrick’s, they curl together closely and he presses his face into the curve of Patrick’s throat. He loves that spot, feels safe there, but tonight he once again catches that soft, sweet perfume and his stomach cramps. 

“I love you,” he whispers desperately, his hands fisting in Patrick’s t-shirt as he pulls him impossibly closer. 

He almost never says it first. 

“I love you David,” Patrick whispers, but the kiss he presses to David’s temple isn’t as reassuring as it should be. 

The old fear starts to creep in, slow and uncertain, but he’s being pulled down by a fog of too much alcohol and too little sleep, and before he can give voice to his worry he’s dropped into a restless sleep, plagued by unhappy dreams.

**XXX**

He should bring it up.

He knows he should. 

He and Patrick have come so far together – him with his insecurities, Patrick with his communication – it just... it feels like failure to admit that he’s worried. 

It’s an accusation, bitter and ugly, and David works hard to convince himself over the next two weeks that he’s being paranoid, that nothing is going on. 

Patrick is still just as sweet, just as attentive, and the sex is still amazing. He doesn’t shy away from David in public, doesn’t start staring after other men (or women), and in general doesn’t give any sign or indication that there’s anything going on, so David bullies himself into setting it aside. He convinces himself that his history, his anxieties are playing tricks on him, and manages to ignore the suspicions, at least until he can’t anymore. 

This time when he steps into Patrick’s apartment and catches him sort of... scrambling on the couch, he assumes he’s caught him watching porn, or jerking off. Neither of these things would have upset him, because Patrick is still adorably shy about these things sometimes, but there’s no real... ahem, _evidence_ that that’s what he’d been doing. Mentally shrugging, he supposes he’d just startled him, or caught him just as he’d sat down, and they go on about their evening like normal. It’s not till later, after he’s collapsed onto the sofa himself with the intention of napping off the pasta-coma he’s working up, that he remembers. 

There’s something bright blue just barely sticking out from between the cushions. 

Frowning, David sits up and reaches for it, his fingers closing on satin and lace. His stomach drops as he realizes what he’s holding, a gorgeous pair of silky-soft panties crammed into the back of the couch, and he feels something crack inside his chest. 

“I thought you were going to pick...” 

Patrick’s voice trails off as he stumbles to a stop several feet away, having come bounding over from the kitchen area where he’d been finishing up the dishes. David barely manages to look at him but he has to know, and the blush and the guilt splashed all over his boyfriend’s face is... is... 

“Patrick, what the fuck is this?” he chokes, his voice raspy and hoarse but not yet choked with the tears he can feel stinging the backs of his eyes. 

He’ll be a little bit proud of that later. 

“David, I...” 

“No, what the _fuck_ is this?!” David demands, and oh, he’s shouting now, and apparently standing up. 

Patrick takes a quick step back, like he thinks David is going to hit him, and that’s ridiculous because he would never do that but he needs to move his hands and he _needs_ to shout right now. 

“I can’t believe this!” he practically shrieks, flinging out his arms and watching the way Patrick watches him, until he realizes he’s staring at the panties, the ones still clutched in his fist that he’s waving around like a flag. “You’re cheating on me?!” 

Patrick jumps hard, his head snapping up as he meets David’s gaze, his mouth falling open. 

“What? _No!_ David, I’m not...” 

“Not what?” he demands, flinging the panties down onto the couch. “Not _what_ Patrick? God, I’m such an idiot!” 

Turning away, he paces back toward the bed before abruptly turning back around, not wanting to look at it or see it or think about what’s maybe happened in it when he... 

“David it’s not what you think!” Patrick says sharply as he tries to approach him, his hands up disarmingly, but David backs up again and flails his own. 

“Don’t lie to me!” he snaps. “I know what I saw Patrick! Maybe I’m stupid, maybe I ignored it and I let it go, but I know what I saw! The lipstick, the perfume, the _panties...”_

“They’re mine!” 

And ok, that... 

That was _not_ the excuse David was expecting. 

“I... what?” he breathes, suddenly feeling very shaky and weak as the floor drops out from underneath him. 

Patrick looks at him like he... like he’s _heartbroken,_ and David doesn’t understand. Blinking rapidly, the way he does when he’s trying to hide tears, he licks his lips – another nervous tell – and swallows hard, squaring his shoulders and meeting David’s gaze. 

“They’re mine,” he says, more clearly and more strongly but obviously still very, very scared. “And I will... tell you anything you want to know about them, but David, will you please just... sit down for a second?” 

And well, that sounds good. 

That sounds like the smart thing to do. 

It’s less sitting and more collapsing as he drops down onto the end of the bed, unable to hold himself up anymore. He feels lightheaded, almost like he’s getting _too much_ air, and has to lean forward and pretend that he’s not actually putting his head between his knees when in all reality he definitely is. His heart is racing and he recognizes this as an adrenaline drop from that time he’d had to smuggle Alexis out of Mozambique in a luggage trunk, but that doesn’t make it any easier or quicker to work through. 

A minute, or maybe a year later, the bed dips next to his hip and a warm hand lands tentatively on his wrist, encouraging enough that he manages to look up despite his shame and confusion. Patrick is sitting next to him and has never looked so worried, so hesitant, but he’s holding out a glass of water and god, he’s still taking _care_ of David after he’d just... 

He feels like an idiot. 

The laugh that bubbles up out of him is wet and broken, and god, he feels like such an idiot. 

That quickly, all his suspicion, all his fear is gone because this is Patrick, and none of the things that David is afraid of live inside that man. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, burying his face in his hands. “Oh god, I...” 

“Hey, David, breathe,” Patrick murmurs, his hand landing hesitantly on David’s back, rubbing between his shoulder blades when he doesn’t flinch away. “Just breathe a minute, ok? Can you take a drink for me?” 

And well, he can hardly deny him that one, small thing, so David forces himself upright and scrubs off his cheeks with the backs of his hands and takes the glass, downing it all in desperate gulps. 

“Thank you,” Patrick says softly, his hand stilling but his thumb still brushing back and forth over David’s shoulder. “It’s ok.” 

“It’s _not!”_ David snaps, angry again but at himself this time. “I just... I just jumped to conclusions and _accused_ you... I don’t even know _what...”_

“I’m sorry David,” Patrick says earnestly, cutting him off, and then, when he turns to glare and interrupt, “No, don’t. I’m sorry. I can see how it must look and I never wanted you to think... I never wanted you to worry about that.” 

“I don’t!” David insists, and Patrick shoots him a disbelieving look. “I mean, I...” 

“You _did,”_ he replies, gentle but firm. “You saw me hiding lipstick, and perfume, and... _underwear,_ and you drew the logical conclusion.” 

“Not logical,” David scoffs, sniffing and wiping his eyes again and sitting up straight, trying to pull himself together. “You’re gay, you told me you were gay. It doesn’t make sense that I immediately thought you were hiding a woman from me.” 

“I might be gay David, but I’m newly out, even to myself, and I had a decade-long relationship with a female. I can understand _why_ you jumped to that conclusion.” 

“It’s still not fair,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you. I could have asked, every time, I could have _talked_ to you...” 

“So could I.” 

And that’s the heart of the matter isn’t it? 

They still don’t always talk to each other, even if they aren’t actively hiding something. 

Patrick seems to realize this too and they sit in silence with it for a few minutes, both of them clearly uncomfortable and a little bit ashamed. 

David’s not surprised that he’s the one to finally break the silence. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want you to know,” Patrick says, looking down at his feet and worrying his hands together the way he does when he’s anxious. “It was more that I... wanted to keep it for myself, for a little?” 

David bites the inside of his cheek, wants to blurt out that he still isn’t even sure what _it_ is, but something tells him to keep his mouth shut just a little longer. 

“It’s just... I’m sort of... figuring this out?” Patrick continues, lifting his head but still not looking at him. “And honestly I haven’t yet but I’m... I _like_ figuring it out. Without... without _you.”_

“Um, can you...” David sucks in a shaky breath, because that _hurts._ “Can you explain that a little, because...” 

“It’s got nothing to do with you _personally_ David,” he says. “Do you... do you remember that time I tried to get you to go out with my baseball team after the game, because I felt bad and didn’t want to leave you alone? And you said it was ok for us to have our own things, our own hobbies that the other person wasn’t part of?” 

David nods slowly, because he did say that... 

“I guess I kind of thought of it like that? That it’s just something I’m maybe interested in. And...” 

Patrick flushes a painful red and David knows he’s about to get the main reason now. 

“And I maybe didn’t want your opinion.” 

“Oh...” 

“Not like that!” he says quickly, reaching out to lay his hand on David’s forearm where he’s pulled away. “Not like I don’t... _care_ what you think. But you... you _have_ opinions, strong ones and decided ones, and I love that about you but _I don’t_ yet. I wanted to... to form them for myself, without them being colored by someone else, so that I really know how I feel about... about all of it.” 

Feeling wobbly, David takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, tries to tip his head back. Everything Patrick has just said makes sense, and is totally fair, and he feels like even more of an ass at this point because if he’d just _talked to him..._

“That is... fair, and valid,” he says slowly, and it’s more difficult than it should be but he manages it. “And I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t have that. Which brings me back around to apologizing again for assuming that you would cheat on me and freaking out.” 

“That was fair and valid too David,” Patrick argues. “You’re smart – you saw things that didn’t... make sense, and you came to the logical conclusion. You weren’t _wrong.”_

Patrick huffs a little laugh, his mouth turning in that upside-down smile David loves so much. 

“Lipstick, perfume, panties,” he murmurs, almost to himself. 

“You don’t... you don’t have to tell me,” David says slowly, as a vague, nebulous notion of what’s _actually_ going on starts to form in his mind. “I don’t... I don’t _want_ you to, if you don’t want to.” 

Finally, _finally,_ Patrick looks up at him, and his face brightens and his eyes shine and he’s looking at David with so much love and gratitude and relief that David thinks he might burn up. 

“I love you,” he says, and oh, apparently he’s feeling more secure again because they’re kissing now. 

It’s short and sweet, just a chaste press of his lips to David’s, but he thinks it might mean everything. 

“I love you,” David parrots back, a little dumbly because even that simple kiss is enough to strike him stupid. “And um... I’m really... I’m really glad you’re not... cheating on me.” 

Patrick barks a laugh and that’s nice, but then he’s wrapping his arms around David’s waist and pulling him in and they’re sort of curling into each other, hugging and cuddling close. 

“I could never cheat on you David,” Patrick says against his neck, lips pressed to the spot on David’s neck that he’d claimed as his own so long ago. “Why would I want to? You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met – you're in a league of your own. No one else can even compete.” 

“Ok, but you’re veering dangerously close to a sports metaphor there,” David says shyly, shimmying a little to get some of his soft, sweet embarrassment out. 

“You know what that means,” Patrick scolds. “And thank you. For letting me have this.” 

“Of course sweetheart,” he murmurs, very suddenly feeling stupidly proud and pleased, with _both_ of them. “I’m glad you have it, if it’s making you happy. Whatever it is.” 

“I’ll tell you when _I_ know a little better,” he promises. “I was always going to.” 

David goes warm and soft and pleased and wriggles again, and Patrick laughs before tipping them both back onto the bed so they can curl together facing each other. His cheeks are a little pink, and he looks bashful with the way he’s staring at David’s chin, toying with his sweater the way he normally plucks at David’s chest hair, and he wants to wrap him up and keep him safe forever but... 

“I’m sorry we didn’t just... talk about this,” he says, and David sighs. “I’m sorry this keeps being a problem for us.” 

“It’s different,” David replies, even if a few minutes ago he was ready to throw that in Patrick’s face out of sheer, panicked anger. “You weren’t... you weren’t hiding something important from me.” 

“But you thought I was,” Patrick mumbles. “And it... might be. Important. One day.” 

“And if that day comes and it _is_ important, you said you’d tell me,” David reminds him, petting his hand down Patrick’s side. “I _do_ trust you Patrick, contrary to all appearances. It just... didn’t look good, and it maybe reminded me of other things, and...” 

“And it triggered you,” Patrick says sagely. “But um...” 

He blushes, looks down, and David squeezes his hip. 

“But just to be clear,” he says slowly, in the voice he uses when he’s trying to be brave, “Just to be clear it was the secret part of it that freaked you out, right? The potential cheating. Not... not the rest of it?” 

“I don’t know what all _‘the rest of it’_ entails,” David says, just as carefully after a moment’s consideration. “And I’m not asking you to tell me right now! But... from what I’ve seen, and what I’m maybe guessing... no, that part doesn’t freak me out.” 

Patrick’s whole body sags against the bed and he lets out a sigh that sounds like it hurts, and David wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in to press a kiss to his forehead and stroke his hair, because god, he loves this man. 

“If you like it, and it makes you happy, then it will make me happy too,” he declares quietly, because it it’s true and because it will and because he doesn’t think there are many things out there that would really turn him off of Patrick Brewer. “I would love for you to share that with me one day, but if you only ever want to keep it for yourself, I’ll still be happy knowing that you have something that’s yours, that... that does that for you.” 

_“You_ do that for me,” Patrick murmurs, snuggling against David’s front and kissing his throat. “And if you think yours isn’t the first opinion I’ll seek out when I _am_ ready for one, you’re wrong.” 

“I _do_ have impeccable taste,” David snarks with a grin, and Patrick chuckles before they both sober again. 

A moment of soft silence passes, and together they... reset, settle back to what they were before. David muses over his outburst and the conversation that’s followed, and he’s... he’s proud of them. It was totally fair for him to freak out about what he’d seen and suspected, not great but understandable given his past and the current situation. At the same time, it was totally fair for Patrick to feel the way he does about all this and keep it for himself. David’s fine with that, feels more and _more_ fine with it the longer they lie here, and despite a moment of madness, they’d managed a pretty solid conversation about everything after. 

Patrick had validated all his feelings, apologized and mostly explained and there hadn’t been anything sneaky or malicious in it. 

They’re doing better. 

“I liked the perfume,” he says quietly, toying with the hair at the nape of Patrick’s neck. He can feel the heat of his blush against his throat. “It was nice.” 

A beat of silence passes, then Patrick huffs, and David can _hear_ the teasing smile in his voice right there alongside the relief. 

“Ok David.”


End file.
